The Road Never Ends

No trail to rustic...
No path too rough...
no country road too winding...
to see it is to feel the impulse that quickly grows into an unconquerable longing. I must go. I must see. I must be a part of whatever is along that way. Like siren song luring mariners to destruction, it summons me...

Mama is crying. Her eyes are red, her cheeks wet with frantic tears. Daddy's face is stern as he turns me over his knee, and I hear the resounding smacks that set my buttocks afire. "Be careful, don't injure her, she's so little," cries my mother. "She really can't help wandering off, it's the gypsy blood in her."

Stepping stones across a brook...
flowering meadow without a fence...
forgotten road map from times past...
I feel the pull. It is compelling me to leave behind all daily chores, all scheduled tasks, appointments, mandates. Nothing matters. All is forgotten for a time except the wanderlust that fills my veins, pulses in my heart, beats in my temples. No fixed course is needed. No goal is desired. What I see along the way is enough. All else can wait...

"Tell me again," I begged of mama. "Tell me about the gypsies...not Goldilocks or Red Riding Hood. Tell me about Great-Grandma Jelinek and the gypsies in The Old Country."

Mama couldn't help herself. She loved to pass along the tales told to her by her mother, of the gypsies around the village of Mala Dobra in Czechoslovakia:

"It was called Mala and Velka Dobra," she would always begin, "because there was good water and fertile land. There were nine ponds around the village green under the castle. It was along an important trade path that crossed the farmlands that were surrounded by forests."

Oh how I loved this!

El Camino Real...
Champs d'Elysees...
The Appalachian Trail...
You may go with me--or not. I care not if I'm alone. I will not remain that way for long, for there are others, who like myself, on occasion, are beset by the same bug--wanderlust. We carry what we need packed in a bag. We understand each other. We share what we have. We tell our tales that grow larger with each telling. Our peaks grow higher, our valleys deeper, our jungles more dense.

"Tell me mama! Tell me about the gypsies."

"They were Roma Gypsies, traveling about the countryside and camping in the forests around Mala Dobra. Their campfires burned in the dark of night. Their music and dancing, their games and their fighting were legendary, and frightening to the people who lived in the village. As the fires crackled beneath the stars, the tamburitzas, lutes, violins and accordians played. They sang their folk songs and celebrated with their wild circle dances."

Havasu Canyon...
Rutas Que Parten De Valdelavilla...
The Great Divide of the Wind River Mountains...
It's not just the young toting packs with unsatiable appetites for seeing what might be around the next bend. Retirement is only a word.

"Now and then the gypsies would make forays into the village to take whatever they could get. There were 36 little thatched-roof dwellings in Mala Dobra. The villagers worked hard for what they had, the women in the grain fields, the men in the coal mines of Kladno. There were assigned watchers. When gypsies were spotted, the call would ring out--GYPSIES! The gypsies are coming! The villagers would run to their homes to protect their belongings.

"One day, Great-grandma Jelinek ran to her home to find a gypsy woman at her saurkraut barrel stuffing the wet, stinky cabbage into the pockets of her fully-lined skirt. She had a baby on one hip and when confronted by the villagers, she took her own baby by the ankles and began swinging it around in a circle for her own protection, and to make her getaway when the villagers hesitated."

Glacier Gorge, Front Range Trail...
Black Bear Pass to Telluride...
PA-CO-CHU-PUK wedding celebration...
The call is there, but the energy is waning. The desire grows strong but reality is not far behind. Tomorrow I will pack my bag. The leaving can wait. It's time for another nap.

"Mama, did your grandma like the gypsies?"

"No, No! They hated them. They were afraid of them."

"Mama, if they hated them, how come I have gypsy blood?"

"You wouldn't understand child. Hush now. Go to sleep."